Where The Rubber Meets The Road
by SteveB2016
Summary: The Gran Turismo. The most prestigious racing tournament in the world. Many would kill for a chance to compete. After the murder of Justin Bennett, his replacement Bradley watches his dream turn into a nightmare from the corruption and deceit at every level.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

It's the final race of the season. The spectators are beside themselves with excitement. They are cheering and shouting as the sound of high performance make the final corner for the start/finish straight. The noises get louder. A car shifts down. Tyres squeal. A young woman climbed into a small box suspended over the the start line. She carried a checkered flag. The nose of the first car peered from the final corner. It is a jet black Nissan GT-R. The driver floored the throttle. The huge twin turbo V6 roars in excitement and he gathers speed. Close behind him is a Chevrolet Corvette Z06. The GT-R changed gear. The engine screams on the red line. The driver changes gear once more. The turbo blowing off as he changes. Behind him the Corvette is gaining on him. The driver weaves. The Corvette counter weaves. The Corvette changes up. The GT-R changes up. The Corvette closed in. His nose level with the rear wheels.

The young girl drops the checkered flag. The GT-R crosses the line first. The Corvette half a second behind him. They were followed by a Ford GT, an Aston Martin One 77 and a Lotus Evora. The driver of the Nissan rolled down his window and shakes his fist at the crowd in triumph. He slowed to do his victory lap and rolled into the pit lane. He stopped outside a garage with a large Nissan logo above it. He cut the engine and climbed out of the car.

A man stood at the garage door. He approached the driver and hugged him tightly.

"You came?" asked the driver.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," said the man. "Well done!"

They hold each other in a tight embrace. The crowd cheer louder and louder.

They released each other.

"Now," said the man. "Go celebrate."

The driver placed his helmet on the bonnet of the car. Underneath the metal, the engine ticked itself cool. The name on the helmet read, "J. Bennett."

He walked through the pit garage. All the mechanics in turn approached him to hug, high five or congratulate him in other ways. Everyone was ecstactic because of his victory. He left through a small door at the back of the garage.

The door opened to a small service road. He crossed the road and was welcomed by a huge podium surrounded by screaming, clamouring fans. He walked through them, they are held back by fences but he paused every so often for a selfie, autograph or just to shake hands. After what seemed like an age he was standing on the podium marked with "1". As he looked down at the crowd below him, he relealised the importance of his situation.

He was the worlds number one. The best in the world at something. This is what he had wanted for such a long time, and now it was finally here. But looking out over the crowd, something was missing. He scanned the crowd, hoping to find out what the missing piece was, but nothing came to him. A judicator placed a wreath around his neck and placed a bottle of champagne at his feet. The judicator then shook his hands and repeated the same motion with all the drivers.

An intercom crackles.

"In third place for Ford is Andrew MacKinnon."

There was a rousing cheer for him. He shook his head in thanks.

"Second place for GM Chevrolet is Nigel Garrett."

Nigel waved his hand enthusiatically.

"But the winner of the 2016 Gran Turismo is Justin Bennett for Nissan!"

Justin raised both hands in celebration and punched the air in triumph. The crowd were yelling themselves hoarse.

A large gold cup was placed in front of Justin. He picked it up and raised it high in the air. Without warning the two drivers uncorked their bottle and began spraying Justin. He dropped the cup. He hastened to open the bottle and sprayed them in return. The crowd laughed and cheered as each driver sprayed each other. In the distance the suited man was clapping enthusiatically. This was Justin's moment. He then took a long swig of his champagne before turning it onto the crowd.

Later that evening it had started to rain heavily. Sitting in the gravel driveway of an expensive house was a large blue Dodge Viper RT10. Inside the house, several lights are on. The rain pattered on the roof of the car and house. It trickled along the guttering and down on the gravel. It formed little puddles due to the saturated ground being unable to soak up anymore liquid.

The house was very modern and open plan. There was a large cabinet filled with a variety of different cups and trophies. In the centre was his cup from today. The others surrounded it like disciples surround their master. It glinted in the low light of the room. Several photos were affixed to the wall. Most of them featured high performance and classic cars. However, above the mantelpiece was a large photo of himself and a young Japanese girl sat on the bonnet of his Dodge Viper at Venice Beach California.

Justin himself was sat at a large breakfast bar. Next to him is a half full bottle of whisky. It looked as though half of the contents had been consumed that evening. Some of it had even ended up on the breakfast bar itself. In his hand was a glass of said whisky. He had his eyes fixed on the photograph of himself and the young girl.

"Congratuations to me!" he said in mock celebration. He raised his glass and drank to himself. He them slammed it down on the bar and smashed it. He staggered up from his seat in the goal of reaching the bathroom. All this whisky was playing havok with his kidneys. He had just reached the hallway. A car stopped outside. The front door opened.

"What the..?" began Justin.

He was unable to finish his sentence. The unknown trespasser pulled out a silenced 9mm and fired once, twice, three times into Justin's chest. He fell back against the wall and slid to the floor slowly leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

The assassin leapt back into the car. The engine revved and the rears span as they floored the throttle. Gravel was thrown everywhere as the car sped off. It tore off down the road. Justin lay in a heap on the floor, life slowly ebbing from the wounds open in his chest. The front door flapped in the wind as the rain continued to pound on the roof.

The next morning Justin's body lay in a body back. It was slowly zipped closed covering the expression of surprise still etched on his face. The body back was wheeled on a stretcher and placed into the back of a black van labelled 'Coroner'. The driver climbed into his van. The engine started and the vehicle trundles out of the drive to the police precinct.

As the van drives away, two detectives duck under the police tape surrounding the property. They look very similar to each other, suggesting they might be related. Their feet crunch along the wet gravel as they approach the front door. A lady CSI is already at the scene.

"Looks like we got ourselves a homicide," said Robert the first detective.

Daniel, his twin, is looking very carefully at the blood stains on the wall. His eyes follow them from their splatter point all the way down the wall.

"I think he was shot," said Daniel.

"Where's your evidence Sherlock?" asked Robert.

Daniel threw his a scarcastic look. He then pointed to the blood splatters on the carpet.

"Look at them," he explained. "The size of them. A knife would leave bigger spots then that."

Robert nodded in agreement.

"Also on the wall," he continued. "He was clearly shot at a distance."

Robert nodded.

"You think maybe a 9mm?" he questioned.

Daniel nodded.

"Yes," he agreed. "And maybe a silencer too. The killer wouldn't want anyone to hear his deed."

"Or her?" suggested the CSI.

"Her?" repeated Daniel. "Whoever heard of a female serial killer, Alice?"

"Aileen Wuornous?" queried the Alice. "Ring a bell?"

"That creepy woman who killed those seven men in Florida cause she accused them of raping her when she was a prostiute?" said Daniel. "Well, she was just a crazy psycho. I don't think this is the same situation."

"Maybe not," said Alice. "But we can't rule out a woman out. It's possible."

" Prove it," said Robert.

Alice lead them past the blood and into the lounge. She pointed to the trophies and the picture on the mantelpiece.

"What do you see here boys?" she inquired.

Their eyes absorbed the room around them.

"Damn this guy had an ego," said Daniel.

"Thank you," said Alice.

She turned to leave.

"You're welcome," replied Daniel automatically.

"Wait!" yelled Robert. "Thank you?"

Alice smiled.

"An egocentric racing driver was murdered by his jealous ex girlfriend," said Alice. "It's obvious!"

"Keep talking like that and you'll put us out of a job," said Daniel reappearing beside his brother.

"No," said Alice. "I'm not that idiotic."

"Although little miss clever," said Robert. "Why not put your money where your mouth is. Whoever solves this case gives the others $100."

Alice hesitated for a moment.

"Deal!" she said. She pulled out a $100 bill and placed it into Roberts open hand.

"And you too brother, get one hundred of your American dollars and put them into my hand."

Daniel pulled out a crumpled $100 from his pocket and thrust it into his brothers hand. Robert slammed his $100 on the top. He then folded the money together and slid it into his breast pocket.

"Winner takes all," he declared.

"Deal!" Daniel and Alice said in unison.

Daniel pulled out his cellphone and made to leave the room.

"You calling the loanshark?" asked Alice.

He gave a sarcastic look and turned away from her. He left the room just as the call connected.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A black and white Police helicopter hovers over a freeway in suburban Los Angeles. The two occupants scan the roads below them, they're looking for something. They scanned the side streets, alleyways and ther highway. The sight of blue and red flashing lights caught their attention. Leading the pack is a red hatchback, behind it is an army of cops all relentless to catch the driver. In the skies above the helicopter joined the pursute.

The driver swerved onto a side street. He glanced into the rear view mirror to find the cops powersliding behind him. He revved the engine to the red line, the car screaming in agony as he changed up to fourth. The cops were gaining on him, he weaved to the left to driver around a box truck. He served in front of the truck, cutting him up. He aired his horn in anger. Behind him the cop leading the chase rear-ended the truck killing the driver and his passenger instantly.

He turned hard into a cul-de-sac. The rear wheels mounted the kerb. He over corrected and slid onto the wrong side of the road. The cops followed him but were closing in fast. Ahead of him was a dead end. He glanced into the rear view mirror. He was trapped. The cops had slowed and formed a road block.

"Shit!" he cursed.

He reached the end of the road. He slammed the brakes and bailed from the vehicle. He slid across the bonnet and sprinted towards a wall. He vaulted over it into someones back yard. Luckily, they were at work for the day. He darted behind a shed, pulling out his 9mm handgun. He flicked off the safety.

"L.A.P.D." called a cop. "You're surrounded."

The driver peered around the corner. A bullet flew past his ear missing him by inches.

"Give it up!" declared the cop. "You've got no-where to go!"

Across the yard he spotted an empty car. A late 1990's sports sedan. He ducked out from behind the shed. Suddently, a cop burst out on his right. He rugby tackled the driver and threw him on the ground.

"Gotcha now you son of a bitch!" yelled the cop. He pinned him to the floor and attempted to cuff him. The driver struggled but the cop was joined by his colleague who assisted in helping restrain him. They cuffed him and frog marched him to their Ford Taurus cruiser.

One cop opened the door and his partner threw him into the back of the car. The cop slammed the door on him and returned to the drivers seat. His partner entered the passenger side and closed his door. The engine was fired up and they backed out of the cul-de-sac. All around them, their colleagues were taking notes as the helicopter buzzed over their heads.

The suspect was lead into the front entrance of the Los Angeles Police Department. The cops still strong arming him to prevent his escape.

"Do you have to grip so hard?" asked the suspect. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

The cop squeezed his arm even harder to shut him up.

The dek officer looked up as they approached.

"Name?" he asked without looking up at them.

"Bradley," replied the suspect. "Bradley Clinton."

The officer looked up at this name.

"You again?" he asked. "Don't you ever learn your lesson?"

"Clearly not," replied Bradley. "Otherwise you wouldn't have caught me."

The cops cluckled.

"There's no escaping LA's finest," replied the desk sergeant.

"You keep telling yourselves that," snarled Bradley. "One day I'll outrun you."

"Yeah, try stealing something faster next time," retorted the desk sergeant.

The desk segeant dismissed them as they cops lead Bradley towards an interview room.

Bradley was thrown into a seat in the interview room. The door slammed and he was flanked by two police officers.

"So," began the officer. "Here we are again."

Bradley was silent. It was his favourite way of making these interviews end quickly. There was a knock at the door, a man entered carrying a buff folder filled with papers. He placed it on the table and left the room. The officer picked it up and read the papers inside.

"Five accounts of grand theft auto and three of attempting to steal luxury vehicles," read the officer aloud to himself.

He threw it back onto the table. The papers spilled out and Bradley caught sight of the charges he was facing.

"Why did you steal the Nissan?" asked the cop. His colleague remained silent, watching the procedures.

"Because it's faster than walking," replied Bradley at once.

The second officer grabbed Bradley's chair and spun it to face him. He then banged his fist on the arm rest, close to Bradley's hand.

"You'd better give us the answers you dirty little criminal," he yelled.

"You don't scare me cop," replied Bradley.

The officer grabbed his throat and began to squeeze it as hard as he could. His colleague kneed him in the shins. He let go. Bradley coughed as he caught his breath.

"Jenkins," said the officer. "Leave this to me."

"But," stammered Jenkins.

"Go!" he replied. "Now!"

Jenkins gave Bradley a dirty look and left the room. The door closed and the cop turned his attention to Bradley.

"You," he said. "Come with me."

He grabbed Bradley and frog marched him out of the interview room. He lead him downstairs to the basment which was full of police cells.

"This should loosen your tongue a little," said the cop.

"Hey, Michael got another one for you," turning to his colleage with a large bunch of keys.

"Ah Mr. Clinton," said Micheal. "Right this way."

He lead him to the cell in the far corner of the room. He lead Bradley in and locked the door behind him.

"How long am I staying in here?" asked Bradley.

"That depends on you," replied the cop. "Whenever you want to tell us why you stole the car I'll unlock the door."

The cop turned and left the room.

A door slammed. The sounds of a high powered muscle car echoes around the room. The driver then pulls away quickly, spinning the wheels slightly. The sound travels through the house and into the only occupied room. The bathroom. A young woman is washing her face. The water flows from the tap and splashed all over the sink. She looked up and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Despite the redness of her face and the tear tracks falling from her eyes, she was incredibly pretty.

She threw some more cold water onto her pretty face. The water beaded over her smooth skin and dotted the fringe of her golden blonde hair. Her big, brown eyes welled up once more. She forcefully wiped back her tears. They rolled down her button nose and fell onto the rim of the sink. She closed her eyes and washed her face again running her hands over each inch of her skin. She turned off the tap and reached for a towel. She patted and dabbed her face and stared at her reflection in the mirror once more.

Her pupils expanded under the low light of the bathroom. However, through the crack in the door her blonde hair glinted. The redness has subsided somewhat as she reached for a toothbrush, toothpaste and focused her attention to cleaning her pearl white teeth. After completing her ablusions she glanced into the mirror for the last time. She was contemplating using make-up, but she decided against it. She was, as always a perfect Eastern European beauty.

The bathroom light was flicked off as she went to slip into something more suitable for going outside. A pair of shirts and a baggy T-Shirt was hardly suitable attire for the streets of Los Angeles. She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a pair of jeans and blouse. After changing her clothes she was ready. She walked across the house towards the kitchen and picked up the keys to a Jaguar XF. On the worktop next to them was a utility bill. The name read, "Mashenka Dovzhenko." She sighed as she glanced at it. The door opened and closed in one movement. Keys scraped a lock followed by footsteps and a car engine.


End file.
